


just be there 'til I know (the riot's gone)

by cherryvanilla



Series: The Riot's Gone Away (s14 Codas) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Possession, Coda, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker, Episode Tag, Episode: s14e04 Mint Condition, Established Relationship, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Intimacy, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 00:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16587119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: Dean misses their home, is the thing. It was bad enough, coming back after being underwater with Michael and dealing with the knowledge of his betrayal regarding their deal. But to come back to the bunker, a place he’s genuinely thought of astheirs, and find a bunch of strangers roaming the halls is a lot to take in on top of it all.





	just be there 'til I know (the riot's gone)

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason, this season is talking to my muse like crazy. Here's another episode Coda, this time for "Mint Condition." I haven't seen "Nightmare Logic" yet. Hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> Title from Santigold.

Dean misses their home, is the thing. It was bad enough, coming back after being underwater with Michael and dealing with the knowledge of his betrayal regarding their deal. But to come back to the bunker, a place he’s genuinely thought of as _theirs_ , and find a bunch of strangers roaming the halls is a lot to take in on top of it all. 

Sam doesn’t seem as unsettled by the notion of their home being overrun with apoco-world refugees and it’s driving Dean insane. Sure, Sam’s had longer to adjust and — hell — _allow_ this situation and yes, Sam hadn’t taken to the bunker as quickly as Dean did at first. But once he did, Dean had thought they were on the same page. The carving of their names into the wood of their table had been as much about claiming the place as their own as it had about legacy and love. And the sex they’d had afterward had been the most tender and life-affirming experience Dean’s ever been partaken in. 

Sex. That was another thing irking Dean. Sam hasn’t made a move since he’s been back, despite his declarations of how long it felt without him, or how worried he was and still is. And sure, Dean has holed up in his own room a lot, but some of that _was_ just to get away from the crowd. And also to give Sam a reason to get him alone and perhaps start something away from dozens of prying eyes. He hasn’t, though. 

Granted, Dean hasn’t made a move either but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want or — more importantly — need his brother. It feels odd; being in his own body again, being in control. Part of him is scared to touch Sam, like Michael is lurking inside and will jump out the second Dean lets his guard down. 

Dean was ruthless toward Kaia, and he can’t blame it on Michael, but he didn’t feel solely like himself either. He’s worried he’s becoming a hybrid of the entities he’s been over the years: Michael, Cain, Demon,. Moreover, he’s terrified of how that extends to his relationship with Sam, the one person he never wants to hurt. 

Instead, he gets jealous at Sam knowing what MIRL means and jokes about couples Halloween costumes, hoping he’ll take the moments for the hints they are. 

He doesn’t. 

Nevertheless, Dean listens to his “Chief” brother and doesn’t stay in his room 24/7 when they get back. He makes nice with the hunters (well, nice for him, anyway. Dean Winchester is not exactly the master of small talk, thank you very much. Unless you get him up against a geek like Dirk). He bonds with Jack when he’s around. After a week of this, with zero leads on Michael and zero action other than his own hand (which isn’t all that great when he considers Michael using that same hand) Dean is about ready to climb the walls. 

He wants to walk into his goddamn kitchen without chatting with “Riley” about the most effective way to out-hex a witch or “Jonathan” about what pizza they should order for the “team” tonight. Sure, they’ve had their fair share of visitors over the previous year. But they were either mom and Cas (who are family) or Jack who somehow when Dean wasn’t looking, became so as well. 

Normally, Dean wouldn’t be ordering in every night. Normally, he’d be cooking for he and Sammy, while Sam hums absently over a book until Dean has to practically tear it out of his hands so he’ll eat the food Dean’s cooked for his ungrateful ass. Or (and this is the more preferable occurrence) Sam comes up behind him, his enormous hands around Dean’s waist and hot mouth on Dean’s neck, distracting him so much he nearly burns dinner as they fool around right there and then, open fire be damned. 

Dean is just grateful no one (aside from Sam, obviously) has used his bathroom. There are some things he can tolerate but that isn’t one of them. 

Given all of these grievances, Dean is definitely surprised to wake on a Friday morning after the longest week ever to find the bunker completely silent. 

He blinks when he finds a rarely-to-be-seen-over-a-stove Sam, looking sleep soft and rumpled, staring down a frying pan filled with eggs and a shit ton of bacon. 

“This place is like a tomb. Was there a mandatory fire drill or something?”

Sam jumps, then curses as hot oil splashes onto his wrist. Dean can’t say he wasn’t going for that reaction. 

“Jeez, make a noise will you?” Sam bitches. Dean has really missed how bitchy his brother is in the morning and all the ways he loves to counteract that, mostly with his mouth and hands. 

“Been enough noise around here for both of us, Sammy. Which brings me back to my question.”

Sam flips the bacon once more before shutting the burner off. It doesn’t look crispy as Dean likes it, but it’s pretty close. 

He turns to Dean, spatula in hand, and drags his free hand through his mop of hair. Dean knows the exact texture and weight of it; knows what it feels like when he grabs and pulls, or slowly runs his fingers through the strands. “I uh, gave everyone the weekend off.”

Dean raises an eyebrow and marvels at the slow flush rising on Sam’s face. 

“Well. I mean, Mom and Bobby are still off trying to pick up some leads.”

Dean nods, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Hey Sammy, you think there’s something up with—“

“No and I don’t want to,” Sam replies, cutting Dean off and sounding like the stubborn teenager he used to be. 

Dean shakes his head, smirking. He doesn’t really want to know if something is going on with his mom and other-world Bobby either. Has no idea how he’d feel about it, honestly. 

“And Cas and Jack are off together.”

“Angel training?”

Sam smirks. “More like human training. I think Cas is trying to bond with him over things like movies.” 

“Help us all,” Dean replies dryly. 

Sam laughs lightly before looking nervous again. “And uh, everyone else is kind of, off doing their own things. I uh, I thought it might be nice to have a few days together... just us. You know. Catch up. Alone.”

Sam is blushing even more now, and Dean has to stop his mouth from hanging open. He sleazily grins while saying, “Alone, huh? Why Sammy, you dirty dog,” because it’s exactly what Sam expects of him. But in all honesty, Dean is pretty shocked. He’d truly started believing that Sam wasn’t at all affected by their lack of privacy, much less bothered that they’d only kissed once since Dean had been back. 

(It had been desperate and heart-stopping, laid on him the first moment they’d been alone together before Sam had backed off.)

Apparently, he was wrong in that notion. Apparently, Sam has arranged for them to have an entire weekend without talkative, always-present hunters in their hair. This deeply guarded secret between them has never been about sex. No, it’s always been about something much scarier. Sam is the goddamn love of Dean’s life, and he’d be so regardless having had crossed that line. 

When it did begin, forever ago it seems like now, it hadn’t been a frenzy; just the opposite, really. They’d been cautious with one another, methodical. It took weeks before they’d even gotten to third base. By the time fucking was on the table, Dean was so completely strung out on everything Sam, that making out was just as exciting as the main event. 

It was the intimacy between them that mattered more than anything else. Dean could get his dick sucked any day of the week if he put in the effort, but he couldn’t get all of the other things Sam provided. The gentle touches, the (yes, he can admit it) cuddling, the sheer marvel of waking up next to someone again in the morning.

Sam sees through Dean’s sleazy bravado, just like he invariably does. And then he manages to say just what Dean didn’t realize he’d been waiting (needing) to hear. 

“I’m sorry, man. I’ve been…kind of overwhelmed, worrying about you and trying to — lead, I suppose. I guess I’ve been losing sight of just… having you back.”

Dean shakes his head. “Man, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate so cut yourself some slack, kay? And don’t go thinking just because we’re not sleeping in the same bed and this place is like an orphanage that I don’t realize you’re still barely sleeping.”

“Yeah, alright,” Sam concedes, despite sounding a little rueful. “But I hope you know that this,” he says, waving a hand between them, “matters to me. It’s...everything. And this place is ours, above all us.”

It’s a declaration of love, Winchester style. Dean allows it to travel into his soul (that’s his and his alone again), lets it fill up his insides and find permanency there. 

Externally, of course, he can’t give in that easily. “Hey, if you wanna train the next wave of mutants in the X-Men mansion, far be it from me to stop you. But even Professor X and Magneto needed some time away from the kids.”

Sam laughs, but it’s half-hearted, emotion heavily etched in the lines of his face. His eyes are grave as he takes one long stride forward, then two and three. When he’s stopped right in front of Dean, it’s his turn to feel nervous. It shouldn’t feel like he’s about to fly out of his own skin, but he can’t get comfortable. 

“Dean?” Sam whispers, inspecting his face, his gaze shifting from focused to concerned. “Are you okay?”

Sam’s asked him that so many times in the past few weeks it’s become rote. Dean isn’t any closer to a better answer. 

He’s getting reasonably good at this ‘randomly sharing his feelings’ thing, though, so he might as well continue the streak. “I’ve been wanting to touch you so bad, Sammy, yet it’s like I’m paralyzed.”

Sam looks gutted for a moment, before nodding. “I know. I felt the same way after the wall started coming down. And uh, after Gadreel. It’s like you’re a puppet not in control of the strings.”

Dean flinches at the Gadreel mention, yet another mark in his history he can’t erase. No matter how badly he’d like. Of course, Sam knows what this is like. Sam’s been through everything Dean has, multiple times over. It kills him, that knowledge. 

When Sam strokes his cheek, Dean doesn’t flinch. “I’ve wanted to touch you, too. But I needed you to be ready. I could tell you — weren’t.”

Dean wants to protest, but he can’t. He merely lets it all go, leaning into Sam’s touch. Sam tugs him in for a hug, strong and fierce. That particular move has been Dean’s more often than not, yet it feels unbearably good to be the one hauled in tight and wrapped up in Sam’s embrace. 

They don’t move for what feels like an eternity. Then Sam’s whispering in his ear. “Whatever you want, Dean. We’ve got the place to ourselves to just breathe, okay? We don’t have to do anything.”

Dean wants to laugh at Sam not pressuring him for sex, but it gets caught in his throat, hot and thick as he swallows around this feeling of comfort and safety. It’s something synonymous with being near Sam; being able to protect yet also be protected. Dean doesn’t need anything or anyone the way he needs Sam, never has and never will. 

He sniffles discreetly against Sam’s shoulder before punching his back lightly. “Let’s see just how badly you cooked me breakfast and go from there.” 

Sam snorts, but when their eyes meet he looks happy. Dean would willfully drown in that expression.  
_________________________

Breakfast isn’t half bad. They don’t say much, just size one another up, drinking their fill. When the dishes are put away, they head to Sam’s room for a horror marathon Sam has queued up. Dean is beginning to feel like it’s his birthday. 

They don’t start making out until halfway through the second movie, despite the fact that they’ve been pressed together shoulder to thigh since sitting down on Sam’s bed. Dean makes the first move, drunk on the heat of Sam’s body, the smell of his shampoo, the feel of his skin against his own.

The kisses are slow and lazy as if they’ve got all the time in the world. Maybe they do, the house blessedly empty for the next two days apparently. Dean imagines getting loud, something they haven’t been capable of since Mom and Jack came around. He wants to sob in pleasure, wants to make Sam writhe and moan. 

Dean doesn’t feel like someone else is at the wheel when he rolls Sam beneath him and kisses his brother until Sam is gasping into his mouth. 

“Christ, I’ve missed this.” Dean presses the words against the corner of Sam’s mouth, the curve of his jaw. “Just the two of us.”

“Yes,” Sam breathes. “Always.”

It’s only one simple word and yet the truth behind it hits Dean like a Mack truck. It’s always been them, and it always will be. No matter how long they go without this, no matter Angels or Demons or the Devil trying to tear them down. They’ll always have this bunker, filled with strange faces or not, and they’ll always have each other. 

Dean pulls back, grinning down at Sam and not having to fake it in the slightest. “Hey, Sammy, whaddya say we fuck in every room of this place for the next forty-eight hours?” 

Sam’s eyes flash with heat. “I was just waiting for you to ask,” he replies roughly, before tugging Dean down for a bone-melting kiss that feels like coming home. 

[END]

**Author's Note:**

> Now with a porny sequel, featuring just as many feelings, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16636613).


End file.
